


I dreamt a dream

by mrs_leary (julie)



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-30
Updated: 2011-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/mrs_leary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colin has conflicted feelings about Bradley finally needing him, when Bradley is cast in a play as an explicitly gay Mercutio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I dreamt a dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ayalleda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayalleda/gifts).



> This was written for the awesome and generous **ayalleda** ♥ as part of **The Purple Dove Project** , a fandom auction intended primarily to help combat anti-LGBTQ bullying in schools, in homes, and elsewhere. ♥
> 
>  **ayalleda** provided the prompt that… well, prompted the opening scene – though sorry, hon, I don’t think it quite turned out as you intended - and then I ran with it from there.
> 
> The (fictional, alas!) play in this is based on a fic I wrote as **slashweaver** , [**Romeo and Mercutio**](http://harlequin.slashcity.net/?p=77) – but I don’t think you need to read that fic to understand this one. Unless you want to, of course!
> 
>   

♦

The thing Colin loved most about his basement flat was the fact that the back wall was almost all glass – a modern installation, of course, in this Victorian–era terrace house – and he loved it because it let in the light, a whole day’s worth of light. Usually he didn’t care for the view, as the garden had long since been patchily paved over and then ignored, but today it was… well, magical. An unexpected mid–January dump of snow had blanketed all in the purest white, and made it beautiful, and the light reflecting off it and into his home was clean and crisp and invigorating. Colin stretched, and nestled further down into the pillows and duvet he’d brought out to his comfy old sofa. A smile tugged irresistibly at his mouth.

London had, of course, ground to a halt, flummoxed by the snow, so his day’s plans were on hold, and hours of freedom were an endless vista before him. He’d turned the heating up so that the warmth glowed softly and yet as expansively and as clearly as the light. He’d put his Death Cab for Cutie playlist on shuffle, so that the music gently permeated all. And he’d stripped off, stretched out, naked and indolent, his cock hard but not yet demanding, his palm simply brushing up and down every now and then, finding that perfect plateau of pleasure and keeping him there, keeping him there…

His contentment rose and spread easy, welled out of him peaceful, and blanketed his world delightful; a freshly fallen silent quilt of snow.

Time passed. After a while, he wanted more, and he wrapped his right hand around his cock, tentative at first, not wanting to lose this… and yet he wouldn’t lose it, would he? In the natural ebb and flow of things, the pleasure would return, and he could lie here all afternoon, touching himself, treasuring, exploring, coming, and then touching again, the crisp light of the snow prickling against his well–used tenderness until he hardened again and the pleasure overwhelmed all else.

He was just starting to settle into a slow but insistent rhythm of strokes when his mobile rang. He was too at one with his world for the sudden sound to startle him, but he didn’t think he’d answer the call; today’s unlooked–for peace was for Colin alone. He twisted and stretched so he could glimpse the display, more because it felt good to turn and reach like that, his body long and limber…

 _Bradley (home)_ , his phone announced. Colin quietly nodded to himself, and let a fingertip settle on the speaker button; ‘’lo,’ he said.

‘Colin,’ came the reply, Bradley’s pensive tones not intruding on his mood at all. ‘Col…’

‘Hey, Bradley,’ he quietly offered, his hand not faltering for a moment. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Col,’ he announced heavily. ‘I got the part.’

‘You…’ A blank moment, and then a grin burst through him. ‘Hey, congratulations! Bradley, that’s great!’

‘You sound surprised.’

‘No! No, uh…’ Why was he surprised? ‘Oh, I suppose, when you didn’t call yesterday –’ His hand stilled. ‘Not that I’d expect –’

‘Of course I would have called you, Colin.’

‘No, I mean, there’s all your friends and family to tell, and –’

‘Idiot,’ Bradley cut in, with an ironic fondness – and he quietly insisted, ‘ _Of course I would have called you._ ’

Colin grinned, and stretched out luxuriously until his bones popped, and then his hand recovered its equanimity, began again with a long slow stroke. ‘Cheers, mate.’

‘Um,’ said Bradley. ‘Are you in the middle of something? Did I catch you at a bad time?’

‘Oh no…’ Colin airily replied.

‘All right.’

‘So… you’re going to be Mercutio.’

‘Yeah.’

‘At last!’

‘Seems so.’

‘You’re going to be brilliant, you know.’

‘Mmm.’ Bradley sounded unconvinced. ‘Rehearsals start tomorrow, would you believe. We’re all gonna try to get there, despite the snow. At least I won’t be spending weeks doing nothing but sit around worrying.’

‘This is your dream Shakespearian role, isn’t it?’ Even as he spoke, Colin’s imagination teased him with the notion of Bradley in doublet and hose… and then without the doublet, in just a loose linen shirt, a peek at the hair on his chest hinting at the virility below… _oh my…_ Colin’s breath snagged, but his hand and his voice remained smooth. ‘You must have been prepping for this, one way or another, since before drama school.’

‘Well,’ said Bradley. ‘It’s not like… an RSC production. It’s not exactly, uh… a  _straight_ interpretation.’

‘I think you’re underestimating the RSC, but –’ Colin grinned, and his hand clutched firm for a moment – ‘I take your point,’ he said oh–so–steadily while his stomach did giddy things.

‘It’s, uh… Well.’

A pause lengthened. Colin’s hand was working nicely away at his pleasure, but a frown visited his brow.

Then inspiration struck. ‘Hey, run your lines with me. I’ll start.’ A moment, and then he announced with Romeo’s misgivings, ‘ _I dreamt a dream tonight._ ’

Bradley huffed, but he obligingly supplied, ‘ _And so did I._ ’

‘ _Well, what was yours?_ ’

‘ _That dreamers often lie._ ’

‘ _In bed asleep while they do dream things, true._ ’

‘ _Oh! Then I see Queen Mab hath been with you._ ’

The words had flowed so easily back and forth between them, like the repartee they amused each other with during the interminable waiting that made up so much of filming. The to and fro of it seemed as natural as breathing – which was maybe why Bradley ended it there, and didn’t launch into his soliloquy.

Colin sighed happily, and observed, ‘The thing to remember is that before e’er Romeo speaks a spontaneous sonnet with Juliet, he banters rhyming couplets with Mercutio.’

‘Yeah,’ Bradley said glumly. ‘Exactly.’

‘Oh!’ Colin curled up on his side as Bradley’s earlier comment finally caught up to him. ‘Oh.’ His hand wrapped hard around himself now. ‘Um. So. Not a _straight_ interpretation.’

‘No. See, the thing I didn’t tell you –’

‘Mmm?’

‘It’s not actually the Shakespeare play at all.’

‘No?’

‘No. It’s called _Romeo and Mercutio: an alternate love story_.’

Pause.

Pause.

Pause.

‘You’re kidding,’ Colin finally managed.

‘Nope.’

‘So, it’s –’

‘Yep.’

‘Seriously?’ He crowed; he couldn’t help himself. ‘Oh that’s great. Oh that’s brilliant. I always knew it about those two. I never heard of this play, though.’

‘No, it’s new. Like, an alternative telling of the story. With Romeo and Mercutio as lovers. So Romeo doesn’t meet Juliet until years later. By which time she’s married to Paris. And they – connect, but the story goes in an entirely different direction.’

‘I bet! Oh that’s great.’

But Bradley was obviously brimming full of misgivings.

Colin stretched out on his back again. ‘Look, it’s still your dream role, even if it’s a different take on it. I bet he’s still brilliant; Mercutio.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Always kind of fancied him myself,’ Colin blurted out with a grin. And a blush.

‘You did?’

‘Yeah.’ His hand settled into a steady rhythm again, determined not to let the pleasure recede. ‘So, tell me what’s bothering you. Is it the gay thing? Is that why –’ _you didn’t call me yesterday? Is that why you’re calling me today?_

‘No. Not so much.’ Bradley sighed gustily, and fell silent for a moment.

Colin’s hand worked on and on, though the frown had returned to his brow.

‘What –’ Bradley suddenly said. ‘What are you doing there? What’s going on?’

‘Um, nothing.’ He eased up a bit, wondering if he just hadn’t noticed that his flesh–on–flesh moves or his hitching breath were giving him away. ‘Listening to Death Cab for Cutie. Looking out at the snow. That’s all.’

‘Right.’

‘Even _my_ back garden looks good in the snow, you know!’

Bradley laughed. ‘It’s a miracle.’

‘But getting back to the play…’

‘Right. Just. It’s all a bit out of left field. See, the play was written kind of taking off from the Baz Luhrmann film, yeah? With a golden–haired Romeo and a black Mercutio.’

‘Yeah…’

‘So, it’s this new company, All Black Ensemble. All black – and I don’t mean like the rugby team. And they’re turning this around. They want a golden–haired Mercutio.’

Colin clutched at himself as a laugh tore through him. ‘Oh that’s brilliant… Are they new, too? I haven’t heard of them. London–based, I hope.’

‘Cast for my hair colour…’ Bradley was grumbling. ‘The token white guy…’

‘And for your skills,’ Colin responded tartly, ‘you know that. It’s a hell of a role. Cast for your skills, your language, your grace and chutzpah, your… _life_. Your joy in life, yeah? You’re gonna break every heart in the place when you die.’

‘Ah, but I don’t. The story doesn’t go that way.’

Colin exhaled. ‘Interesting…’ His hand gave up on his well–used cock for now, and pushed down to tug at his balls, to cup them and tumble them in his palm. He gave a ruminative rumble –

Which Bradley misinterpreted. ‘Colin,’ he said, sounding rather unimpressed. ‘ _What_ are you doing?’

‘Um. Nothing.’

‘You’re, uh –’ Bradley cleared his throat. ‘You’re having a wank, aren’t you?’

Caught badly! Colin chuckled. ‘Keep talking, then.’

‘God. You’ve been wanking this whole damn time.’

‘Hey, do the Queen Mab speech. That’d totally work for me…’

‘I thought I already knew how weird you are, Morgan. I thought I had you figured out. But every now and then I realise I don’t even have the first clue.’

‘Bradley –’

Nothing.

Colin’s heart clenched in fear. He’d gone too far. ‘Bradley! Don’t –’

The phone went dead.

Well. That was rather a mood killer. Colin let himself go, and swung his legs around, sat up a bit too quickly and paused there dizzily for a moment. He stabbed a finger at his phone to turn it off, not wanting to talk with Bradley if he happened to call back and certainly not wanting to talk to anyone else. He got up, and wandered restlessly over to the window, pressed his palms and forehead against the cool glass. What an idiot he’d been. He’d long known that there were some places he couldn’t go with Bradley, some things he couldn’t share. He thought he’d accepted that almost from the start. It wasn’t that a gay guy couldn’t be friends with a straight guy, of course, but there were lines. And he’d just crossed one. Colin sighed.

He turned around, and contemplated his flat. He was pretty much snowbound, so how should he spend the rest of his afternoon? He wasn’t really in the mood to read anything in his current pile of books. And he didn’t want to read through the scripts he’d been sent – that was for tomorrow, that was for a workday. His eyes finally lit upon his DVD collection. Ah… He went over and rummaged through for the Baz Luhrmann, which someone had given him for Christmas or something. He’d only watched it once, though he’d thought it brilliant.

He put it on, and as before the opening made him laugh in delight at the sheer audacious energy of the thing. Wrapping himself up in the duvet, he settled in for the duration, a hand sneaking down to comfort himself as the sweet poignant strains of _Talk Show Host_ introduced Romeo, beautifully bathed in cool golden light. By the time Mercutio rocked in that night, all shapely dark legs and silver high–heels, Colin was hard and hungry again. Though he couldn’t have predicted what would prompt him to spill over at last…

 _But he that hath the steerage of my course, direct my sail._

He came with a little cry, and in the aftermath Mercutio began to sing. _Young hearts… run free…_

♦

He owed Bradley an apology, and he figured an extra effort was called for. It took three phone calls to find out where All Black Ensemble were rehearsing, and another to discover that they would finish for the day at about four. Colin pulled on his sturdiest trainers, his warmest beanie hat, and as many layers of clothes as he could wear while remaining mobile, and then he braved the snow.

He’d left plenty of time just in case – but as luck would have it his Tube journey, while indirect, was prompt, and he didn’t even take a wrong turning let alone get lost while tracking down the old community hall – so he was sneaking into a seat at the back of the darkened auditorium by three.

A number of people – whom he assumed were the director, cast, and key crew members – were seated in a wide loose circle on the stage, while a young man and woman stood in the centre, scripts in hand, blocking out a scene.

‘ _Can a man not worry about his wife? You seem too fine a thing for this world._ ’

‘ _I am not so delicate as all that._ ’

‘ _I meant fine as in magnificent, not delicate. The world does not like magnificence. It will try to crush you._ ’

Juliet and Paris, Colin surmised. The director murmured something encouraging, smiling and nodding like he really meant it, and the actors sat back down again in two empty chairs.

And then Bradley, who’d seemed to be sitting tucked away out of anyone’s ken, stood and paced towards the centre of the stage, as did – Tommy! Colin gaped in surprise, wondering if Bradley would have gotten around to telling Colin about this if their phone call hadn’t ended so badly. The two men circled one another as if in a dance, considering, each orbiting the other. And for a moment Colin was confused by the layers of identities: Romeo and Mercutio, Tommy and Bradley, Elyan and Arthur, with the wicked kick that last pairing brought with it, the prince and his future brother–in–law…

‘ _Though she anticipates new life,_ ’ Bradley said in sad uneasy tones as they finally stilled – and he didn’t need to refer to the script – ‘ _I fear the same old death stalking us._ ’

‘ _Don’t be afraid, Mercutio._ ’ In response, Tommy was alight with peace and faith.

And Mercutio inevitably drew Romeo close, looking like his heart would break, his free hand cupping Romeo’s face – Bradley and Tommy pressed close, with a slight nuzzle of noses to cheeks – and everything about their body language, their emotion, their energy, suggested a kiss, all desperation and reassurance and love. Colin’s breath had stopped in his mouth. Sure, and the two of them were just going through the motions for now, but they weren’t exactly phoning it in, either. ‘Oh god,’ Colin murmured brokenly, unsure whether his prevailing reaction was excitement or envy. ‘Oh god…’

♦

Once they were done, the company started drifting off past Colin towards the front entrance of the hall. As Tommy approached, Colin stood to greet him. ‘Hey, Tommy.’

‘Colin, my friend.’ They shook hands. ‘It’s good to find you here.’

‘Congratulations,’ Colin offered. ‘This looks interesting.’

‘Yeah, I thought so. Don’t think I’d be reprising the role otherwise.’

‘Heard you were brilliant at the Globe.’

‘Ah well,’ Tommy responded with a becoming bashfulness. ‘It’s such an experience to work there!’ He was saved from further compliments by Bradley’s approach. Tommy tipped his head back towards him, and said to Colin, ‘Thanks for lending me this one.’

‘Ex _cuse_ me?’ Bradley protested.

Colin nodded, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets. ‘Just be sure to return him in the same shite state you found him.’

‘Will do, my friend,’ Tommy reassured him, ignoring Bradley’s outraged splutters. ‘Will do. Anyway, I’ll catch you later,’ he said, again offering his hand to Colin.

They shook, Tommy left with a friendly wink, and then Colin was left alone to face Bradley – who seemed to take courage from Colin’s patent unease, though all Bradley managed to say was, ‘Um…’

‘Wanted to apologise,’ Colin explained with a shrug. ‘I was well out of line.’

Bradley echoed his shrug, and wouldn’t quite meet his gaze. Nevertheless, he said, ‘Wanna get a drink?’

‘Sure.’ Colin offered a smile quirked with shame. Bradley grinned in response, happiness increasing, as if helpless to resist. And that, it seemed, was that.

They ventured forth through the snow together, shoulder to shoulder.

♦

On the Tuesday evening a week later, Colin’s phone rang, announcing _Bradley (mobile)_. Colin let himself smile warmly for a moment, before answering with a more appropriate coolness, ‘Hey, Bradley.’

‘Hey.’ And Bradley asked pointedly, ‘Not catching you at a bad time?’

Colin grinned. ‘No. I promise. I am fully clothed and behaving myself.’ Bradley snorted in ironic disbelief, but then fell silent, so Colin prompted, ‘What’s happening?’

‘Um. Look.’

‘Mmm…?’

‘Look. Well. Kev – the director – Kev wants us to do a proper run–through. With everything. With the kissing. Cos, you know – he said he wants to get the chance to actually direct that, too.’

‘Makes sense,’ Colin said with calm honesty.

‘I guess. Cos – god forbid I should get a kiss wrong. I mean, I _can_ kiss.’

‘Course you can. But it has to be right for the characters, doesn’t it? It can’t be just a generic thing.’

‘I _get_ that. They’ve been together for years.’

‘Exactly. That’s gonna have a bearing.’

‘But they’re also right _in the moment_. They’re – Mercutio’s scared. Scared he’s gonna lose Romeo, one way or another. To Juliet or to the feud.’

‘See, you’ve already got it nailed. The director – Kevin? – just wants to make sure of all that before it’s too late to tweak things.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I guess – I just –’

 _Pause._

Colin helped him out. ‘You’ve never kissed a guy before, right?’ And there was this great craving dark empty pit in his stomach, cos he suddenly knew where this was going.

‘Neither’s Tommy. So we agreed. We’d practice. I’m going round there. Tonight.’

The pit turned to yearning envy, eating him up, swallowing him whole. ‘Yeah, OK,’ he managed to say coolly. And he added rather lamely, ‘Makes sense.’

‘I just thought I’d – _die_. If the first time was in front of everyone.’

‘Yeah. Yeah.’ Hardly knowing what he was saying. ‘Take the edge off.’

‘So, um…’

Silence.

Colin rallied himself. Bradley deserved no less. ‘Look. Don’t get yourself too worked up about it.’

‘No?’

‘No. Like the song says, _a kiss is just a kiss_.’

‘Is it? Have you kissed girls?’

‘Mate, I have kissed all sorts. A kiss is a kiss is a kiss. Anyway, you’ll be performing, won’t you? It’s not _you_.’

Silence.

And Colin began to wonder. Maybe it _would_ be Bradley that night. With Tommy. Not Mercutio and Romeo, but Bradley and Tommy. Maybe it would go beyond a first tentative rehearsal. Maybe it would become real. Maybe they’d start making out, and… _oh god_.

Colin cleared his throat. ‘It’s just a performance. A rehearsal.’

‘Practice,’ Bradley supplied.

‘Right.’

‘But before that… I think I want to… practice.’

‘You want to practice – for the practice?’ Colin asked blankly.

‘Col –’

‘ _Oh god._ ’ He was nothing but craving. He was a _black hole_ of craving, drawing everything into himself, destroying everything in an effort to capture Bradley. ‘Where are you?’

‘Outside.’

The doorbell chimed. Colin stared up at it, this nondescript white plastic box that had just announced his doom.

‘Col –’

‘Coming,’ he whispered.

And the phone dropped from nerveless fingers. He was dashing up the stairs, wrestling with the damned deadbolt, wrenching the door open. Bradley was there, pushing inside with the cold night air. Shoving the door closed behind him. Colin’s arms lifting reaching for Bradley’s shoulders in wanton longing, his own shoulders propped askew against the wall – Bradley surging into his arms – and they were kissing, a desperate clumsy mouthing, Bradley’s hands cupping his face, then running over his hair, down his throat to his shoulders. The kiss gradually became a slightly more considered thing, as if Bradley really was learning, and it was overwhelming and Colin dimly thought it was _gorgeous_ , he tried desperately to pay attention so he could relive the memories, he clung to the confusion of now for the sake of the future – and then eventually it broke, but Bradley stayed there in his arms, resting his forehead against Colin’s, murmuring his name.

‘Mmm,’ was all Colin could manage in response. His lips were closed. His eyes were closed. His arms and his heart and his sex were wide open.

‘Colin – I wanted –’

‘Mmm?’ He didn’t dare hope. He knew Bradley couldn’t offer what Colin had once dreamed of.

‘Col. I wanted you. To be the first.’

‘Thank you,’ he whispered, though he knew that later he’d curse himself for such vulnerable candour. ‘Thank you.’

‘Have to go.’

‘Mmm.’

‘He’ll be expecting me.’

Colin opened his eyes. ‘Don’t,’ he said, knowing he had no right to ask it.

But, ‘I won’t,’ Bradley promised with the tiniest wry smile. ‘Me and Tommy: strictly business.’

He wasn’t even capable of an agreeable murmur by now. Colin stayed there, mute. Incapable of ending this.

Bradley drew carefully away. ‘Thank you,’ he said, gaze anywhere but on Colin now. ‘That was. I shouldn’t have even. Presumed. But thank you. That was just what I needed.’

He had actual tears poised right on the edge, ready to spill. Colin very carefully didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound.

‘Thank you. Sorry,’ Bradley offered with a glance at Colin. ‘Goodnight,’ he added in stilted tones, reaching for the deadbolt. There was a frustrating foolish moment while he wrestled with the unfamiliar locks, with the door that wedged too tightly into the jamb when it was cold – Colin reaching to help him for a moment, but then not game to draw so near – then the door was open, and Bradley was gone with nothing but a frozen slab of air left behind.

Colin fumbled at the locks, fixed them with trembling fingers. And then he sank, he crouched against the door in the grey shabby old hallway, and two fat drops of saltwater sploshed uselessly on his denim–clad knees.

♦

They avoided each other for the next two weeks, and Colin made every reasonable attempt not to torture himself with thoughts of Bradley and Tommy, strictly business or not. The trouble being that he wasn’t feeling at all reasonable. He missed Bradley horribly, even though all they might have exchanged during that time were a few texts, a phone call; maybe they’d have met for a drink, if they hadn’t both happened to be part of a gathering around one of their _Merlin_ friends. Colin avoided everyone.

Finally opening night came around, though, feeling like it was a year later. And he went – alone – hiding himself off to one side in the jam–packed auditorium, about halfway back. And of course Bradley had put his name on the list of people to be admitted through the stage door afterwards. And of course Colin made sure he was the first one into Bradley’s dressing room. Where Bradley waited by his table, the mirror reflecting the slope of his lovely strong shoulders, and he was bubbling over with joy and pride, undercut the smallest amount by anxiety.

‘Brilliant,’ Colin offered from just inside the closed door. ‘Honestly. You were brilliant.’

‘God, d’you really think so?’

Colin grinned then, the actorly connections between them mattering more in that moment than anything else; the shared work and dreams and ambitions. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I – just –’

‘What?’

‘You caught me up. Swept me away. He was everything he should be.’

Bradley was so very pleased with himself. It was delightful to see, this too–rare very–real confidence. ‘Thanks. Thank you. I mean it. Couldn’t have done it without you.’

Colin snorted at such a ridiculous notion. ‘He was all yours. Mercutio. You made him yours.’

‘There were times when I – when I moved like you –’ Bradley had taken a step towards him. A subtle, sliding step that was maybe meant to go unnoticed by either of them.

‘I know, I saw it, I felt it – in my sinews. I didn’t think you’d –’ Colin stumbled forward a step, too.

‘– been paying attention?’ Bradley supplied, easing further towards him. ‘But I have. I really have.’

A sudden rattling of the door handle, a knocking at the door. _‘Bradley?! You in there?’_

Disappointment crashed through Colin, grief shrivelled his heart. Not that anything – Well. If it could only have happened within that one moment, under those very specific circumstances, then what chance did it have? Better not to risk all on such a flimsy premise.

 _‘Bradley? Why’s the door locked – Oh.’_

God, had he actually locked the door behind him? Colin felt his face flame. He turned away.

‘No!’ Bradley protested weakly.

He opened the door, stepped back. People flooded through, all good cheer and congratulations, while Colin stood there with an inane smile on his face. _The door was locked? How mad is that? Stupid damned door!_

Bradley was inundated, as he deserved, by friends and family and well–wishers. Tommy came in, and Colin shook his hand, tried to convey all the pleasure and pride he sincerely felt. He was well impressed. But then Tommy, too, headed for Bradley, crowing with glee. It was lovely to watch.

Colin allowed himself one moment more, and then slipped quietly away.

♦

He collapsed onto his sofa, stretched out in abandon in all the wrong senses. He hadn’t even turned the lights on. He just lay there in the dark, and gazed sightlessly out at the horrible old garden, which not even the strong pour of moonlight could rescue. He lay there in his shirt and his jeans, having shrugged off his jacket but not even kicked off his trainers. He lay there abandoned in the grey–green silky–cotton fitted shirt he’d bought from Fat Face for this night, as if that would have made the difference, as if Bradley would have nodded, and said, _Great shirt, mate. Let’s fuck._ And it was far far easier to mock himself and his silly dreams and his patently ludicrous vanities than to remember that there had been a moment that night in which he was sure, he was _sure_ Bradley was sliding towards him with intent, even if it would have all been for naught.

Suddenly he couldn’t stand having that smooth cotton against his skin. As if a shirt would have made Bradley forget that he was straight, that Colin was a man. Ridiculous! Colin’s fingers tangled at the buttons, wrenched them apart, cool air against his chest and stomach. He couldn’t bear it, _he couldn’t bear it_  –

The doorbell chimed.

Colin started, his heart jumping and then racing terrified. He was caught there, half reclining in the middle of wrestling his shirt off, staring up at the stupid white plastic box as if it had just signalled the end of the world.

It chimed again, and there was a thump at the door, a shove, then a wrenching of doorknobs, and –

The door must have suddenly given way, cos there were stumbling heavy footsteps, a muttered curse as if the man had only just caught himself from falling. Had Colin not locked the door? God, _had he actually left his front door unfastened,_ hoping against all the odds that –

Another muttered curse, and then the familiar sounds of the door being wedged back into place, the deadbolt being thrown –

Footsteps thudding reckless down the stairs, too fast – and then Bradley was there – Bradley was –

– striding towards him in the cool drenching moonlight, infuriated, helpless, impassioned. Colin gaping, still caught there frozen – Bradley climbing onto the sofa, kneeling, straddling his hips, peeling off his own layers of jacket and sweater and shirt – his strong chest bare now and descending towards Colin’s – and Colin barely had time to whimper before that mouth was on his again, hungry, so hungry – his arms reaching to encompass those shoulders, remembering how it had been when they’d kissed, daring to dream of how it could be again – Bradley’s beautiful hands sliding in under his shirt, spreading cool around Colin’s ribs – and this was too much, too good, a long–held dream that had been reinvigorated by the snow and delivered by the moonlight, and he never _ever_ wanted to wake.

Except it was real, it was real, it was Bradley muttering ‘oh _fuck_ colin **_fuck_** ’ and lifting up again to clumsily try to deal with the buckles and buttons of Colin’s belted jeans.

‘Let me,’ Colin whispered, terrified that the slightest thing, the tiniest obstacle might be enough to bring Bradley to his senses. His own hands were shaking, but he could at least undress himself, unthinkingly undoing everything and shoving it all midway down his thighs – as far as it could go, with Bradley’s own thighs in the way – totally exposing himself, while all the time watching as Bradley knelt up tall and undid his own jeans and briefs, just enough to let his cock stand proud – oddly, he noted in wonder, incredibly, Bradley’s cock as rock–hard as Colin’s.

And then Bradley was lying down over him, his knees pushing back a little so that their cocks clashed – Colin let out a wild cry – one of Bradley’s arms winding around under his shoulders, lifting him up into another hungry kiss, and Bradley’s other hand sliding down his side, shaping itself to his hip, palming his buttock, then slipping lower to wrap around the top of Colin’s thigh, right up under where the flatness curved out – and that abruptly became his most erogenous zone _ever_ , except for the obvious, the obvious, against which Bradley’s cock was rocking, hot and dry and _hard_ so **_hard_**  – and –

‘oh no _no_ ’ Colin whimpered ‘too soon too soon’ he grieved heartbroken as the treacherous pleasure welled up within him

Bradley grinned down at him, thrusting relentless, tightening his hold. ‘Enjoy it. Don’t worry. Enjoy it, and you can have another one after.’

he groaned surrendered and let the pleasure take him, and it was the most wonderful thing, the most wonderful, and his seed pulsed between them, wet and wild and messy, and he loved it _he loved it_

Then he eased a hand down between them as Bradley didn’t falter, slid his hand in between Bradley’s belly and his cock, let the ridges of his fingers do the work as Bradley thrust, thumbed at Bradley’s cockhead as it pushed up to the apex – and then Bradley was coming, too, muttering ‘oh fuck fuck _fuck fuck **fuck!**_ ’ and he collapsed down onto Colin as if gravity would never let them part again, and Colin held him near and stroked his hair, the quiet moonlight bathing them in peace.

♦

‘Tell me you have a bed,’ Bradley eventually muttered from somewhere down against Colin’s shoulder.

‘I have a bed,’ Colin obligingly replied.

‘Can we go there now? Take me there.’ Not that Bradley even budged an inch. ‘If I can get up.’

‘All right.’

After a while Bradley managed to lift his head. ‘If I can stay. Can I stay the night?’

‘Sure.’

‘’s late. Tube’s closed. Had to catch a taxi here. Why d’you leave?’ Bradley staring down at him, confused now and vulnerable and warm and so utterly marvellously shaggable. ‘Col? Why didn’t you wait for me?’

‘Oh, _Bradley_ ,’ he murmured, gently chiding. _You know why._ But all he said was, ‘Come on, get up, you big oaf. You’re flattening me.’

‘You’re loving it.’

‘Mmm,’ he said as neutrally as he could manage, and then at last Bradley levered himself up, glanced down with a little moue of distaste at the lovely mess between them. ‘Here,’ Colin said, sitting halfway up and finally wrestling his shirt off; started using it to wipe the deliciousness off from Bradley’s chest and belly.

But, ‘Oh no!’ Bradley protested. ‘That’s such a nice shirt!’

Colin stared at him for a long dumbfounded moment – and then couldn’t explain why he abruptly descended into a giggling fit that may well have lasted all night if only Bradley hadn’t threatened to renege on his promise of a second orgasm. Which sobered up Colin immediately.

♦

‘I’m using you,’ Bradley confessed somewhere in the small hours. The moon had set, and the room was dark. Plus, Colin had his eyes shut. ‘I’m using you. But I need you, Col.’

‘’s all right,’ he mumbled, thoroughly shagged out, and anticipating more. Well, a month’s worth of more. Just while this play ran, that’s what he understood. What he accepted. After all, Bradley was straight, and Colin was a man. There was no getting around any of that.

‘I need you. But I feel bad that –’

‘Don’t. I mean. I’m using you, too. Aren’t I?’ he asked flatly. Rhetorically.

‘Are you?’ Bradley didn’t seem unhappy about that; only a bit bemused. He turned towards Colin, and gathered him back into his arms. It seemed that Bradley liked cuddling. A lot. And Colin could live with that. For a month. ‘I need you…’ Bradley murmured again, nuzzling at Colin’s throat.

‘Go to sleep,’ Colin advised. ‘There’s always the morning. Well, the afternoon. I think we’d better sleep in, if we can.’

‘ _I_ think –’ Bradley started.

‘Mmm?’

But he received nothing more than a snore in response. Colin smiled a little, finally turned towards where exhaustion loomed, and he slipped neatly under.

♦

Colin actually had good reason to be happy now that his own theatre project had fallen through, and he was free right through to when they were due to start filming the next season of _Merlin_. He spent the entire month being nothing more nor less than Bradley’s. He attended every performance, even the matinees; sometimes watching from the audience, sometimes from the wings, sometimes waiting in the dressing room and listening over the speaker system.

Tommy was gracious towards him, and the others just seemed to ignore his presence or accept it without quibble. He would watch the performance, or listen, and he wouldn’t get jealous of Tommy no matter how convincingly he and Bradley played out a very real years–long committed love, because afterwards he and Bradley would head home – whether to his own place or to Bradley’s – and they would fuck. Every night. And sometimes the following afternoon as well. It was as if they couldn’t possibly ever get enough. Which in itself told Colin this was only for the month, for the run of the play, because even for two fit young men it was a tad… excessive. Delightful and amazing, and a bit too much at times. But, ‘I need you,’ Bradley would murmur to him in the darkness or in the dim wintery sunlight, ‘I need you,’ and Colin was incapable of denying him.

Until closing night, of course, when Colin stayed long enough to watch the triumphant curtain calls, the happy tears quivering on the brink for Bradley, and he watched Tommy encompass his co–star in an overwhelming hug while the audience cheered, and then Colin turned and slipped away.

♦

‘Why didn’t you wait?’ Bradley complained later that night or maybe early the next morning, creeping cold under the duvet, burrowing into Colin’s carefully hoarded warmth.

‘What?’ Colin was honestly befuddled. It was a dream. It must be a dream, that Bradley would be here now – now that the play was over, and his need was over.

But, ‘I need you,’ came the familiar murmur as Bradley gathered him close and held him there in the darkness, all of him wrapped around Colin, body and heart and soul. It felt so real. Colin scrambled through thoughts, memories, conclusions. He hadn’t asked for his keys back yet. ‘Col…’ Bradley seemed content for once just to hold him, which was… unexpected. Maybe this _was_ real.

‘ _I dreamt a dream tonight,_ ’ Colin tried.

Bradley huffed. ‘ _And so did I._ ’

‘ _Well, what was yours?_ ’

‘That you might possibly love me.’

A moment passed.

‘Bradley…’

‘I need –’

‘You’re straight,’ Colin reminded him.

‘I thought I was. But –’ Bradley’s hands ran over him in the dark, already familiar to Colin, already familiar _with_ Colin – ‘but if this is the shape that love comes in…’

‘Oh, _Bradley_.’

‘I need you. I still need you.’

And at last he confessed, ‘I need you, too.’

‘Well, then.’ And they held each other close, and Colin dared to dream that maybe they might never be parted again.

♦


End file.
